The morning had begun bleak.
They had walked for hours, guided by the Herald, without encountering a single soul on the path or in the villages they passed. No fresh footprints marked the earth. The only sounds were their own breaths and footsteps.
She hadn't spoken of her own accord all morning. She answered when spoken to, yes, but she did not seek conversation. Solas couldn't blame her. He still had etched in his mind the moment the explosion had alerted them and how she'd frozen before that grotesque landscape. Then he knew: the dalish elf was too innocent for such brutality.
The blows would shape her. He could only hope they wouldn't strike too hard.
But he knew it was a foolish hope. A delusion.
Because he could imagine exactly how she felt.
He had already lived it. Branded by fire.
Surely, a layer of grief was clinging to her, pulling her toward the ground. Surely, she longed to cry, to stop, to sit by the roadside until the tears ceased… and then walk on.
Surely… she felt desperate.
It was understandable. There were many emotions capable of breaking the spirit of a leader. Especially when everyone expected her to fulfill her role, as if she were nothing more than that: a symbol. They forgot she was also a person. A woman.
It was not easy to be in her place.
Solas knew that too well.
He also knew it was a path walked in solitude. One learns to walk when there is no strength left. When one believes there is no step left to take… and yet takes one more. And another. And another still.
When is a leader truly defeated?
It was a question he had asked himself more times than he could count.
And sometimes, he wondered if he had already been defeated… and simply hadn't realized it.
Because the Dread Wolf was no longer a leader.
He was merely the living shadow of failure.
Solas couldn't help but remember his own crushing beginnings as he watched her.
And that irritated him.
This whole situation dragged him into the past, like a filthy tide carrying back pains he had tried to drown in waters too deep. So deep, he feared letting them surface and being finally annihilated under the unbearable weight of guilt.
But he remembered.
He remembered, for instance, the villages burned by the infamous Andruil, when she had succumbed to madness. He could still see the corpses of men, women, children, and elders scattered like leaves after a storm.
And above all... the eyes.
The eyes of those victims, still showing fear, as if not even death had freed them from war or the goddess they worshipped.
And thus he learned that sometimes, not even death erases fear.
He also remembered the rivers.
Rivers so filled with blood under Falon'din's servants that the water had ceased to flow under the crimson density.
And it was no metaphor.
Each image was etched with brutal literalness.
He had seen so much blood... that he had come to feel revulsion for blood magic. He hated it. Felt sick just recalling it.
Solas clenched his staff tightly.
Because that revulsion…
… had not stopped him when he created the Veil.
There were hundreds of atrocities he could recall if he allowed himself to.
But he didn't.
Not out of prudence.
But out of fear.
Because with those memories came the agonizing migraines.
Solas looked at Elentari and wondered how many more horrors the young elf might still witness on this path she had begun to walk. The path of leadership.
When one began, no one warned of everything it concealed… for the first steps were traced with ideals… that along the way… crumbled into inert stone. And the path eventually became bleak. Crushing. So much so, that even he had been defeated.
Dinan'shiral…
The journey of death.
Ruthlessness was mercy toward oneself.
And then, he realized he was clenching his fists, and that each time he recalled those scenes, he quickened his pace, as if by doing so, he could outrun his past.
It was foolish to yearn for that. Because Solas knew the past had already caught him.
The path of leadership was infamous, torturous, and meant for few. He hoped the Herald would be capable of walking it.
He hadn't been.
The bluish gaze of Fen'Harel lifted toward the skies and contemplated the Breach. Yes, that mocking witness of his failure. That tear in his Veil, that damned Veil he had placed upon their world, destroying it.
His failure as a leader.
His attempt to free the oppressed, the victims, the innocents… from the Evanuris.
And then he looked again at the Herald, the dalish elf who spread false tales about those very enemies he had condemned, and whom she continued to worship.
The woman's dark hair was braided, dancing with each of her steps. He sighed, because even though she was utterly mistaken in her beliefs, deep down, he wished she might know a different ending than his own.
Because his story… he wouldn't wish that on anyone. Not even Elgar'nan. Only he knew how much it had hurt, and how much it still did…
Solas clenched his jaw and forced himself to breathe.
Because despite everything… he was Fen'Harel, another Evanuri. The one who would tear apart his Veil and unleash chaos in her world…
In the end, the failure of the dalish woman's leadership was sealed under the conviction of the Dread Wolf. And that stirred a bothersome sensation in his gut.
The poor elf seemed like someone with good intentions… a shame she had crossed paths with him.
- I don't usually meddle in mage affairs, but I have to say this.
He heard the dwarf's voice beside him, and Solas turned toward him. For the first time, he was grateful the child of the stone had pulled him from the fatal spiral he'd slipped into.
- You've been rather quiet lately about our Herald.
Solas curved his lips into a half-smile and, in a measured, almost indifferent tone, replied.
- And what should I say, child of the Stone?
- I don't know. Maybe have one of those philosophical talks you're so good at. Or something more practical. A bit of advice for the girl.
The elf's gaze was unreadable, but he listened closely.
- She doesn't need my advice.
- Oh no? Because from here, I'd say she looks like someone carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. And you... you could help her bear it.
- It's not my place.
- And what in the Void is your place, then? Because so far, you've just been following her in silence, watching from a distance, as if that somehow freed her from a burden. But I see that the burden still rests on her.
Suddenly, Solas stopped, and the dwarf followed suit.
- What she needs is to learn on her own, Varric. The path before her is a lonely one.
- Yeah, I won't deny that.
Then the dwarf crossed his arms, unfazed by Solas's evasive answer, because he had seen that the elf was an iceberg, yes, but just as sensitive as all the effort he made to hide it.
- But I worry that maybe… learning on her own might mean breaking. You know, losing her essence. And the girl has a good heart.
Solas couldn't answer right away.
In his mind, the image of Elentari running with the boy in her arms, refusing to give up, resurfaced. Her determination suddenly reminded him of someone… himself, and he felt pity.
Because he…
… no one had helped him.
They had let him run, run and run, until he went mad with the pain of the dead and the weight added with each life lost.
Where was that somewhat innocent Solas who had begun the whole rebellion dreaming of breaking chains? Had he died? Did he still live within him?
Then, he grimaced in disgust as the comparison to her rekindled a spark… long extinguished.
The Rebel. The Untamed. Fen'Harel.
- I cannot tell her how to walk this path.
Just as no one had told him, no one could tell her.
- No… - said the dwarf, stepping closer to give Solas a friendly pat on the arm. Then he smiled lightly and, like a precise dagger, added:
- I'm just saying… it's not a bad thing to remind her that she doesn't have to do this alone. Sometimes, that's all someone needs to hear. I'm not telling you to show her the way, just to let her know you're there. That she's not alone.
And with those words, Varric resumed walking, leaving the apostate behind, lost in thought. The mage looked at the spot where the dwarf had placed his hand… a small gesture, yet comforting, that betrayed his body's reaction against himself.
Suddenly, like a flashing whip, the memory of his old friend Revas forced its way into his consciousness:
"Rebellion is not just an act of resistance against a tyrant; it is an affirmation of our capacity to choose our destiny."
Maybe… he hadn't been alone.
Maybe… he hadn't accepted help.
Solas sighed, then looked at the dalish woman.
He thought of Varric's words… thought of Revas… and of Felassan…
Was it possible for a leader not to be alone? Should he accompany her with his experience?
But in the end…
… then the elvhen looked again at the great Breach…
In the end, he would tear down his Veil.
Wouldn't it be cruel to fill her with false hope?
Then he shook his head…
The dwarf had just confused him…
Would it be so wrong to help her? To be her guide?
His eyes fell on the woman's left hand… the Anchor, her power… the power once lost by Fen'Harel… now hers.
And he kept walking, unable to decide.
He kept following the group's leader.